


Tendencies

by kurapikakurtaaa



Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Hinakoma - Freeform, Komahina - Freeform, M/M, be wary of cutting and od mention, graphic depictions of suicide attempts, i wrote this loosely based on my own story, of overcoming suicidal tendencies, pls don't read/read with extreme caution if this may upset you, pls proceed w caution!!, pls stay safe!!, sdr2 - Freeform, spoiler heavy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 04:51:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9476504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurapikakurtaaa/pseuds/kurapikakurtaaa
Summary: Komaeda is suicidal. Hajime is asleep.-Set post Danganronpa 2.5 !![Please proceed with caution]





	

          The digital clock on your deep oak nightstand reads 3:08 in red letters, illuminating the dark room ominously and making you squint a bit. Tacked onto the end of the numbers is a small AM. _Great_ , you think, _another night of this._

Your lover sleeps beside you: cradling his own face, tan palm, a puddle of drool already settled in it. Tousled brunette hair sticks up more than usual, long eyelashes brush his cheeks and the slightest hint of freckles are sprinkled across the bridge of his nose. His other hand is ever-so-gently gripping the hem of your tee shirt, pointer finger slipped innocently through a hole. Chewed down nails endear you and the tiny wrinkles on his fingers crinkle your face into a soft smile. You're staring at the small freckle on the middle of his left pointer finger when you snap back into reality - when the gentle hum of cicadas outside becomes less of a chorus and more of a liability driving your paranoia. Getting out of the simulation feels so long ago - but it's only been four months, and you already feel a bit fuzzy in your headspace. You were the last one to wake up - the others were required to go through extreme therapy to heal their remaining despair. Some of your peers still needed assistance walking around due to all the time spent in a coma with no movement at all. Hajime's despair therapy had been the most grueling: extensions so far as shock therapy and a few operations to get his seemingly-irreversible effects into even slight order. He still suffers from severe mood swings, and horrendous migraines so bad that more than often, you have to nurse him while he pukes up all the food he's eaten. He can be fussy, and if his Kamakura side gets too out of control, you have no choice but to call an emergency team and watch as he's whisked away from you for a few days of isolated time until he learns to control himself again.  
  
It's a miracle the two of you are even allowed to sleep in an unmonitored room, but it's guarded by alarms, so when the door is opened after 10, you're both in deep shit. Really, the most damage the two of you can do is to each other, if unmonitored. Kamakura hasn't laid a hand on you yet, though, which is a small comfort, but something is still eating away at you. Your half-assed methods of self protection should be more indicative that something is wrong than they are: everyone plays it off as a joke, but you can hardly control your self-loathing in the deep hours of the night. The Future Foundation decided it would be better to wake you up when the rest of them, particularly Hajime, were stable. You spent a while asleep in a dream world where you could clear your mental state, which helped you feel a bit better when you woke up. However, you committed suicide in the simulation for a specific reason. You never intended to wake up... the aftershock of waking up alive after such a strategic suicide attempt was awful, not to mention the fear and despair you felt when you realized how badly you had maimed your own body due to Junko. You felt fine for a while, even though it took nearly a month of therapy to even get you to utter a word, you _were_ doing..."alright." Lately, though, your head has been filled like a subway station of those returning self-deprecating thoughts. Your fingers, stubby nails chewed down and raw, graze over your exposed thigh. You feel the marks you made there, on your own skin, before you were forced into the simulation. Apparently, suicide was on your mind, even when you searched for hope in despair, even before you entered Hope's Peak...and now, the raised lines feel so...familiar. Your fingers ache as they twitch over the lines of raised skin.  
  
_You can't stand it anymore._  
  
You slip out of the covers, Hajime's hand slips quietly from your shirt and falls to the bed without a sound. You look at him, sleeping peacefully, and cannot help but feel disgusting, like you're somehow betraying this peaceful scenario.  
  
_You are._  
  
You cannot look at him sleeping quietly - so innocently - puddle of drool in his palm growing as soft snores escape his chapped lips. Pale light teases through the curtains and shines on him, lighting up his skin like a sleeping angel. You, under the moonlight, feel like a ghost, sickly and pale, as you glide silently to the bathroom of your shared room at the Future Foundation's headquarters, shut the door gently, and click the lock. Now you feel less like a ghost and more like a monster. You pause for a second - making sure that the room is still dead silent and that he isn't stirring, that he won't hear you. You can still hear the screams of cicadas outside, their chorus mocking you. Everything is so loud: the drip from the tap into the sink is a heartbeat and the soft buzzing of the overhead light are the whispers and chatters of your peers, mocking you. You stare into the mirror at your sunken-in eyes and tangled, matted white hair, and you look at the disgusting figure you see staring back at you with nothing but utter hatred and disgust. You watch as the figure- no, you, raise your hand slowly. Parting your chapped lips with a soft _pop_ , you press your thumb, ring finger, and pinkie into your palm, and quickly shove the other two down your throat.  
  
You gag and sputter, and you can't help but weakly laugh a little bit after you throw up everything in your stomach so suddenly that it comes out your nose and tears stream down your face. You stare at the discolored contents in the toilet bowl through blurry, tear-obstructed vision, and smile softly. Your eyes are cloudy as you flush and watch your food and bile swirl down and become replaced by clean water. You smile while you tell yourself that you are disgusting, that neither Hajime or Kamakura will ever love you, and you jam your figers down your throat again and again. Bile burns your throat, and you puke until nothing is left. The whole situation is invigoratingly unpleasant: the burning in your throat and your nose and the way your eyes water enriches the entire self-depreciating experience. Soon, the burning isn't enough, and you stagger to a weak standing position to grab Hajime's thin blue razor.  
  
You smile as you rip a thin blade you popped out of a razor across your revolting, sickly pale thighs. Dark blood spills out across snowy white skin and drips onto the white tile floor - as if to make a point that all you do is make messes of things. You smile, ever so slightly, as you grab an enormous bottle of Hajime's prescription painkillers. He desperately needs for his migraines, due to Kamakura dwelling inside of him. You think about poor Hajime's head if you down all of these, but decide that you're an even bigger headache to him than that Kamakura ever could be. You're so shaky, weak, disgustingly useless that when you try to open them, they fall out of your hand and 30 or so of them clatter to the floor.  
  
_You can't even try to kill yourself right_.  
  
You smile as you fall on your face, so weak and empty that your vision is beginning to go black and you can't seem to collect your thoughts and your _heartbeatisracingand_ -  
"Komaeda?" Asks a worried voice on the other side of the door, and the blood left in your body turns to ice. You haven't cut yourself deeply enough or thrown up enough to kill yourself yet, but that doesn't mean Hajime will be relieved at the sight. You try to rationalize an excuse: anything. _You tripped and spilled the pills, you don't know how! You were feeling dizzy and... and..._  
  
There's no way to lie about this. There is only a plain sight: blood drying on the tile floor and puke in your matted hair, accompanied by enough painkillers to end your life three times over.  
  
"Komaeda? Nagito, are you in there?" He asks, and now the handle rattles. You muster what voice you can to reassure him, as you reach out and press your palm flat against the door to stop him from pushing it open. With your other hand, you shakily try to begin picking up the small pills.  
  
"I'm just feeling a little under the weather and- ah!" You cry as the knob rattles harder.  
  
"Let me in, Nagito. I want to help. Why did you lock the door? Are you okay?"  
  
"Hajime, I'm only sick, really, I-"  
  
Chills run up your spine as an unmistakable click and a rattle signifies that Hajime is sticking something in the door and picking the lock. You look down at all the blood on the floor and the few pills in your hand as you struggle to get up, but fall flat on your face. You let your head lull to the side, and slowly take your hand away from the door. You know you've been caught red-handed before it even opens.  
The handle gives out with a click, and you close your eyes.  The screaming coming from your beautiful lover's mouth is louder than an ocean's roar as he drops to his knees and turns you over.  
  
You feel like nothing but a ragdoll.  
  
"K-Ko, can you see me? Hear me? I-I- hold on, I'll call Tsumiki, stay right here while I get the phone. ah god, oh god, somebody help!" He coaxes you, but his voice raises in unmistakable panic, cracking as he sets your head gently back on the floor and darts away to get the phone. You can hear him crying and screaming into the receiver, and your wicked smile melts into a frown as you look at your wiry hair matted to the floor with sour bile. There is blood all over your hands, too, and you feel like you might be sick again, even if your stomach is empty.  
  
_Is it because you're so ill? Or is it... remorse?_  
  
Hajime is in hysterics as he rushes back into the bathroom, waiting for Tsumiki, you suppose.  
  
"Komaeda, I need you to look at me. Komaeda? Hey! Komaeda, baby?"  
  
You can hear him, but for some reason, the words won't even form in your throat. Your vision greys and then goes completely black, and your body becomes a ragdoll. Your hearing fades out slowly with your vision. Your boyfriend's desperate cries the only thing left.  
  


When you wake up, your head is pounding and your thighs ache. Your stomach growls, and your vision is still grey.  
  
"Nagito?" Asks a soft voice: one you recognize. "Nagito, can you hear me? Are you awake?"  
  
The light doesn't hurt your eyes when you open them all the way: the room is dark, and you can just barely make out Hajime staring at you with wide emerald eyes. You peer around, opening your chapped lips again: this time, to speak. Your voice comes out raspy, and your throat still burns of bile.  
  
"Did I...fail?"  
  
"Luckily." Hajime breathes, leaping out of his chair and wrapping his arms around you gingerly, his body rocking with sobs. "Thank god I found you when I did, what the hell were you thinking? This is the second time in my life I had to deal with your suicide...god, I could've had a heart attack."  
  
You say nothing.  
  
He wipes his eyes and grabs your thin, wiry hand gently, resting his head on your thigh as he runs his thumb ever-so-gently across your knuckles.  
Both of you fall back asleep quickly. When you wake up, the room is still dark. The soft, rhythmic beep of morphine alarms and your heart monitor are the only noise, besides the occasional soft snore from Hajime. You stare at the drool pooling in Hajime's palm as he rests his head on the side of your bed, his body sprawled awkwardly in the uncomfortable hospital waiting chair. You stare at his freckles and his chewed down fingernails gripping your hospital blanket, and you sigh. You really aren't sure how you feel... this is the second time you've failed, but is that a result of your bad luck...? That seems most likely. However, you can't help but wonder if it's the opposite.  
  
Hajime stirs, rubbing sleepy eyes and peering up at you. Your heart beats a little faster: if your survival was good luck, bad luck is bound to follow. Could he awaken as Kamakura, and perhaps-  
  
"Ko? You alright?"  
  
You sigh softly, placing your shaky hand in his messy hair. He continues to peer up at you, and a sad expression crosses his face.  
  
"Komaeda... do you wish that I hadn't found you?"  
  
You shake your head curtly before you can even stop yourself, but when you see the smile of relief on his face, you realize you don't really regret telling him that; even if you're not totally sure it's true. Hajime puts his head back on your blanket, sniffing softly and a moment of silence passes.  
  
"Do you think it was good luck, or bad luck that you found me?" You ask, almost a whisper.  
  
You can hardly stand to look at him.  
  
Hajime sits up after a second, his soft green eyes searching for yours in the darkness. He laces your fingers together, staring at you intensely.  
  
"I think... it was bad luck-" he utters.  
  
You inhale sharply with regret and shock, and you can almost _feel_ your self loathing rearing its head, but he continues to speak.  
  
"that I couldn't prevent this."  
  
Now that is something to shock you.  
  
You are silent until the morning.  


* * *

 

You spend three more days in the hospital, lulling in and out of dreamy dazes as the clock spins: AM, PM, AM, PM... There is only so much on the TV to keep someone entertained. You're released from the hospital and issued twice the therapy as you initially had. You're given tons of bottles of medicine and Hajime is relieved of a few duties to keep an eye on you once you go home.  
It's not until five months later that you start to feel a change. You are watching the snow fall like petals to the ground, silent and stark. Holding a mug, which you sip out of cautiously after swallowing four pills, you feel a warm hand on your shoulder. You know it's sweet, gentle Hajime's without even having to turn around. He sits at the barstool next to you, and the two of you watch the snowfall through the tall windows in silence. You admire  
the way he looks in navy blue - his long sleeves tightly drawn over his tan arms and rolled up to the elbows. His hair is still a little messy - it's still early.  
  
"You look nice in black." He says softly, picking a hair off your turtleneck, but your focus is fixed on the hot cider in your mug.  
  
"How do you feel?" He murmurs, taking your mug gently from your hands. You turn to him, scratching the back of your neck softly. He sets down the warm cup on the seat next to you, and takes your hands in his own.  
  
"Good." You say after a while, and he freezes, staring at you. You repeat yourself. "Good. I feel good."  
  
"That's.... really.. good, sweetheart." He says endearingly, but you can feel the hesitation - the disbelief in his words.  
  
You nod, and the two of you sit in silence, watching soft snow mat the ground in a blanket of crisp white. That is, until Souda runs in front of the window, screaming, chased by an angry Fuyuhiko who is armed with snowballs. Hajime laughs, and you turn to look at him. His lips are upturned in a big grin as he stares out the window, shoulders bouncing in a fit of giggles. You stare at him in awe, and after a while, he looks back at you.  
  
"What?" He asks, cocking an eyebrow.  
  
"It was good."  
  
"What was good, Nagito? Those morons?" He asks, pointing a finger out the window at Souda, whose head is currently under Fuyuhiko's rear end.  
  
"No."  
  
"Then what, you goof?" He asks, laughing softly and pushing your drink back towards you. You clasp it in both hands, staring at the small ripples in the liquid.  
  
"It was good luck. That you found me that day, I mean. That you stopped me from killing myself."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"I wouldn't get to see your face if... if it weren't for you saving me. I wouldn't get to be here. And I want to - I like it. I like it here... a lot. I like learning to respect myself, and... I like being here with you."  
  
He is silent, but you cannot bring yourself to look at him. Soft fingers brush your face, and he gently turns your head to look at him. He cups your cheek in his warm hands, and you're surprised to see him crying.  
  
"I'm so proud of you, Nagito." He yelps, jumping off of the barstool and ramming his head into your chest. "I knew it was good luck all along."  
  
"I'm...proud of...you too?"  
  
You say it like a question: reassurance is hard, requiting appreciation is so difficult.  
  
After a quiet few moments, he stares down at you. You're still perched on the barstool, and at full height, he looks down on you only a bit. It's been quiet here for so long, but when his eyes half-lid and he moves towards your face, all you can hear is your own heartbeat thrumming in your ears. Warmth explodes inside of you; your stomach is a butterfly garden and your cheeks are on fire. He kisses you softly, slowly. His tongue is soft in your mouth, and his gentle grip on your waist brings even more heat to your cheeks. You kiss for just a few moments more, and then he pulls back, staring at you. Your heartbeat does not recede or linger, and neither does his gaze. He kisses you again, and again, and again.  
  
He asks you to say you love yourself, so you do. He agrees to say it, too.  
  
He tells you he loves you. You say you love him too.  
  
He kisses you again.  
  
_It really was good luck._  

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. If you are struggling with suicide, I encourage you to seek help. Keep going, dear readers!  
> As always, kudos and feedback are much appreciated.  
> XOXO, kurapikakurtaaa


End file.
